John and the Hawk
by Izzileia
Summary: John is left caring for an injured Karkat when a crash suddenly leaves the latter flightless, and near defenseless in the Sierra Mountains. Birdstuck AU, with Trollbirds.


The urge to fly south hit Karkat and his flock with the first cold snap. The brief window to reach warmed wear thee had tail feathers ruffling, and nests being picked clean, ready for abandonment.

They were elusive, his people, a mix of bird and something else; they'd often been called Angels when seen flying in the daytime, and soon after hunters began striking them from the sky as prizes, but they were far from holy. So they switched to rising with the moon, and going to bed with the sun.

Karkat was one of the smallest, his bird a red shouldered hawk that left him with a russet brown chest plume, and black and white wings, flecked with a bright red. His wingspan wasn't nearly that of Kanaya, part Snow owl, or Gamzee, who was Vulture, and he suffered greatly in the air because of it. He spent long hours practicing on air currents, trying to master flight in the soft rays of moonlight.

This wasn't one such night, however. Karkat had pulled everything he owned into a sack he kept on his waist. He didn't have much. A few shiny baubles including a silver pocket watch, a spare pair of clothes, and a blanket for the colder nights. All in all it didn't weigh more than a pound or two. Karkat wasn't one to keep trophies.

It was nearing moonrise when the flock gathered, grove empty, and a medley of wings stretched out.

The flock was less a flock, and more like small groups of specific breeds that lived near each other. Clans of snow owls, falcons, ravens, and eagles, plus many more, lived respectively in a sort of colony.

Karkat regarded the two dozen or so trollbirds surrounding him, all preparing for their flights. He, himself, was already flapping his wings, testing the air for takeoff.

They shot up as a group, and then dispersed in the air. It was every bird for themselves on the flight south. Some darted to higher air currents, and a small group headed east first. Karkat had his own plan.

Catching an upward draft under his wings, Karkat soared up to a warmer, higher air current where he could easily get his bearings. He glided south west, as he was never one for the humid weather of the coast; he aimed more directly toward the Sierra Mountains. It would be a flight spanning over a week, and he metaphorically patted himself on the back for practicing so much.

Karkat veered off from the rest of the group after a shout goodbye to his closer companions. He flew deftly, with the overlying sense of finality. He was flying his own path this year.

It was smooth flying with little air turbulence in his current for the first two days. When the sun reared its burning head he took shelter in trees or overhangs, sleeping until the orange giant fell below the horizon. He was way ahead of the schedule, the unfamiliar scent of mountains perfumed the air after only four days of travel, but it was laced with the smell of human.

Housing line the base of the mountains, and Karkat grumbled about outdated maps and having to find a new territory to call his own. He flew into early dawn, exhausted, but searching for a place not scented with humans. Once the sky was yellow, he'd all but given up hope on his dream, but a small peak in the distance smelled of nothing but fresh pines and sycamores.

Sandy eyed he dove toward it, diving head first into the unfamiliar land he planned to claim for himself. Blinking the fuzzy bleariness from his eyes, Karkat managed to evade most stray branches, however when he pulled up to land a solid branch struck his wing, causing a sick crack an him to tumble downward, smashing into the canopy.

Karkat screamed in agony when his tail feathers were caught and torn from his body. Landing in a crumpled heap of fluttering tail and wing feathers, his eyes blinked shut in unconsciousness once his head smacked the ground.

John was sitting on his porch, watching the sunrise and sipping coffee when he saw the giant bird go down after clipping his wing on the tallest tree in his mountain's woods. Throwing on his hiking boots over bare feet, and jacket on top of blue flannel pajamas. The young ornithologist slid down the stair banister and stormed from his cabin toward the woods, heading down the familiar paths at a break neck pace.

John skidded to a stop about twenty feet from the mass. A pouch had spilled its contents. Shiny toys and jewelry along with odd looking fabrics that he could only presume was clothing were scattered around the lump, feathers stuck from branches and still rained from the sky.

John recognized the wing pattern, but was baffled at the sheer size; a few trembling steps forward and John crouched by Karkat's side, taking invite grey skin and giant wings.

Yellow and black eyes opened slowly while chirps of pained distress formed from his lips. Karkat couldn't see clearly, but he was aware of the human standing by him.

Scrambling to stand, Karkat flapped frantically bolting into the sky a few feet before the jarring pain in his wing, and lack of tail feathers sent him back in the dirt.

It was already daylight and there was a human. Karkat was already panicking, but when he saw John chasing after him, his adrenaline spiked.

John, not thinking, rushed after him, causing five more attempts at flight before Karkat hung his body in defeat, face wet with tears of pain and fear, hair and feathers puffed up to twice their size, his defensive action when he was scared.

"Hey, hey I'm not going to hurt you," John crooned, brain finally kicking in. He didn't make eye contact, and kept his body neutrally set. John looked Karkat over again, confused.

"What are you?" He asked, those eyes shot up with a glare, talons feet dug into the dirt, cracking roots, and pointed teeth snarled.

"Not one of _you_, asshole."


End file.
